


It's Late, But Not Too Late

by MindMangler



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Body Swap, Don't copy to another site, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 16:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19949680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindMangler/pseuds/MindMangler
Summary: The Apocalypse has been averted, but that doesn't mean that Aziraphale and Crowley are out of the woods yet.





	It's Late, But Not Too Late

** Prophecy 5004 ** ** - _ "When alle is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre." _ **

_"It burned down, remember."_

Aziraphale winced as Crowley's words echoed through his mind once again, and his hand reflexively tightened around the demon's cool, slender fingers. Crowley squeezed his hand and shifted in the cramped bus seat to face him.

"You all right, angel?" His voice was low, and warmer than Aziraphale could ever recall it being. All the usual brash and bravado, sarcasm and sluttishness was missing. It was just... loving.

"Quite all right," Aziraphale swallowed. "I'm just... processing, I think is the term used now days. It's been quite a week."

"It's been quite a day," Crowley sighed. "I just, I wish it was over."

"It's not?" The angel turned his head and frowned, his beautiful blue eyes clouding over. "But... But surely there's nothing more to... Armageddon has been averted! The Anti- I mean, Adam he- he's a perfectly normal boy." Concern was almost blooming into full panic.

"That prophecy of Agnes Nutter's that you plucked from the sky," Crowley mused. "I think I know what it means. And if it means what I _think_ it means, then we have some serious work left to do, Aziraphale. Because if we don't, then... Well, then I think that's it for us."

"What do you mean?"

"How do you destroy a demon?"

"You know how."

"Say it."

"Holy water." Aziraphale's voice was disgusted. "It completely destroys every single particle of a demon's being. Physical. Spiritual. Ethereal. Everything."

"Hmm." Crowley stared out the window, seemingly mesmerised by the passing scenery.

“Crowley-”

“And if your pals up in Heaven decided that once and for all, they were done with you? What would they do?”

“I'm not sure I understand.”

“If they were to destroy you. How would they go about it?”

“I- I'm not sure I... I can't conceive of-”

“Hellfire, Aziraphale.” That voice, often exasperated when Aziraphale struggled to think fast, was now soft, warm, and filled with endless love, so much so that the angel felt a shiver go through him. How could a demon be filled with such love?

“Hellfire?”

“Yes.” Crowley turned back to face him. “I think that you and I have finally crossed whatever invisible lines Heaven and Hell drew up long ago. We stopped the Apocalypse from happening. We are directly responsible for assisting the Anti-Christ to refuse his destiny. And while humanity might thank us, should they ever know – which I mean, obviously, they _won't_ – I don't think our respective HR departments are going to be sending out commendations.”

“No.” The angel's face became quite pensive. “I don't imagine they would be. But what do we do, Crowley? Do we fight?”

“No.” Crowley stood, gently pulling Aziraphale to his feet as the bus came to a stop not half a block from the demon's flat. “The last thing we do is fight. We'll go with our heads held as high as they can fucking get.”

Aziraphale quickened his pace to match Crowley's long, leisurely strides as they made their way up the street. “ _Not_ fight? How the Hell will that help us?”

The demon remained silent as they entered his flat, and even with the quick demonic miracle he sent ahead, Aziraphale could still smell the lingering stench that was all that remained of Ligur. Crowley sauntered over to a sleek black cabinet, from which he procured a bottle of scotch.

“If we do what I suggest, fighting will most definitely get us... well, fucked. Destroyed.” He found two glasses and filled them, not bothering to measure. “If we fight, we die.” He passed a glass to Aziraphale, lifted his own in a silent toast and downed it in one gulp. “If we go along, play nicely,” the demon poured himself another glass. “Then I think we will make it out, not only alive, but better off than we have been.”

“Right. But what is it that you're suggesting?” Aziraphale took a small swallow of the scotch, savouring the fiery warmth of the liquid. “Ooh, this _is_ very good.”

“Mmm.” Crowley gulped down his second scotch. “What I'm suggesting is... we swap.”

“Swap?”

“Yeah. I go to Heaven, you go to Hell. I can't be killed with Hellfire. Holy Water will be a nice little splash about for you. We win.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale looked at his friend as if he'd lost his mind. “You do realise they _can_ tell us apart.”

The demon flashed a brilliant grin. “I told you. We swap.”

“What do you mean?”

“'Choose your faces wisely,'”Crowley intoned in a cracked, feminine voice. “'For soon enough you will be playing with fire.'”

“You mean...”

“I'll be you, you be me.”

“Swap...” Aziraphale's eyes lit up, as comprehension dawned on him. “Swap our bodies! Yes! I do believe that would work!”

“See?”

“Um, one small thing. How... how do we go about it?”

“I know how to do it. Well, I mean... I _think_ I know how to do it.” Another glass of scotch was poured and gulped. “I'm pretty sure.”

“You're not filling me with a lot of confidence, Crowley.”

“No, nor me.” The demon put his glass down. “But what choice have we, angel?”

“Yes. Quite right.” Aziraphale finished his drink and placed the glass next to Crowley's. “All right, then. What do we have to do?”

“We need to be close.” Crowley swaggered forward, coming to a stop only when the two were nearly nose to nose.

“This close?” Aziraphale asked, his voice breaking slightly. The demon's scent was subtle, but still almost overwhelming this close. Sandalwood and fire, the scotch on his breath. It had been _so long_.

“The closer the better.” Crowley's voice was rough.

“Well, my dear fellow, any closer and we'll be _in_ each other.” Aziraphale said with a shaky laugh.

“Yeah well, that _is_ kind of the point.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale flushed. “So, now we...?”

“Take my hand.” Crowley held his left had up, and Aziraphale placed his gently shaking hand within it. “Now, _concentrate._ I mean it, angel. Concentrate, harder than you ever have before.”

“Concentrate on?”

“Every physical particle of me. You have to get it all, down to the last freckle.” Crowley's voice grew even lower. “Do you remember, Aziraphale?”

“I could never forget.” The angel's voice was a whisper.

“Concentrate.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, not wishing to be distracted by the acute closeness of his demon. He had to remember, to vividly recall the last time. 1941. A blink of an eye in the great vastness of his existence, but more than a lifetime for a human. The night that he had finally realised that Crowley - brash, wild, _demonic_ Crowley - actually loved him. Was, in fact, filled almost to overflowing with love for him. His lean frame, always so sensual and seductive to Aziraphale, had seemed even more worthy of worship than usual. An angel he may be, but Aziraphale had his vices. He savoured that which he enjoyed, and since the Reign of Terror, he had savoured Crowley as often as could be managed. But that night, in the middle of The Blitz, the angel had not only savoured the demon, he had lavished him with attention, had spent hours fussing over every inch of him. There wasn't a part of his skin that hadn't been seared into Aziraphale's mind. Concentrate? It was harder _not_ to think of him.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale's eyes flashed open, or more accurately, Crowley's eyes flashed open and Aziraphale looked through them. Straight into his own eyes.

“Oh.” The angel looked down at their still entwined hands, the long fingers he so loved taking the place of his. “Oh, this is... this _is_ odd.” He glanced back up and was taken aback by the look in his own blue eyes. What was that emotion? Fear? Joy? So hard to tell.

“Very odd.” His own prim voice came back at him, with an uncharacteristic drawl.

“Well, I guess you do know what you're doing after all.” Crowley's voice sounded quite strange with Aziraphale's clipped intonation. “I suppose we'll have to work a little at the speech patterns, won't we?” He reached up with his free hand and removed the sunglasses that the demon habitually wore. Crowley looked away.

“Yeah, you... you might want to keep those on, angel.”

“You're going to have to stop calling me that. I'm Crowley now.”

“Right, yeah. Well, keep those sunglasses on, Crowley.” He still wouldn't meet Aziraphale's eyes.

“Why?”

“Because I always do.”

“Look at me, dear boy.” He reached out his hand – his now long, slender hand – and cupped Crowley's cheek, gently turning his head. Blue eyes, shaded with gold – he'd never realised that before – looked at him, sadness and pain evident now over that other emotion. “Why do you hide your eyes?”

“Because I don't like them, and I can't imagine anyone else likes looking at them either.”

“I do.”

Aziraphale leaned forward, closing what little gap there was between them, and gently kissed Crowley. Oh, this was _delightfully_ different. Using his friend's lips to kiss his own. He couldn't think of a word to describe it. Crowley gasped and deepened the kiss, his free hand snaking around Aziraphale's waist, dipping under the black jacket and slipping beneath the tight trousers to the soft, bare skin. He roughly pulled the angel to him, and Aziraphale groaned at the feel of the shorter, stockier body pressed against him, the fingers kneading his cheek. He groaned again, at the feel of this body responding. The heat spreading through him, the tightening in his groin – restricted by the tight trousers, but it felt so _delicious_. This is what he did to Crowley. This is how his human body made Crowley's human body react, and it was _divine_.

“Angel...” Crowley pulled away. “Do you... I mean, this? Do you really want this?”

“This might be our last chance.”

“Yes, but... Like this? Really?”

Aziraphale said nothing, just snapped those slender fingers and miracled their clothes away. Left hands still entwined, he ran the fingers of his right hand lightly down Crowley's spine, delighting in watching his body react. Finally, he placed that emotion burning in his own blue eyes. Lust. That's how he looked when he wanted his demon. Dear God, it was so obvious!

“Do you want me to be me, or want me to be you?” Crowley asked, darting his head forward and licking Aziraphale's collarbone.

“What?” The angel's brow furrowed.

“How deep are we taking this role play?” His right hand was now trailing around Aziraphale's waist, sliding over his hip, and dipping slowly between their bodies.

“How...” The angel moaned as Crowley took hold of his erection.

“Do you want to take control? Do you want this to go slow? Hmm?” A little demonic miracle – or was it? Hard to say, with this body swap – and Crowley's hand was slick and firm. “Do you want this to be a worship, lay me on an altar and praise me?” His hand twisted slightly at the same time he took a nipple between his teeth.

“No!” Aziraphale gasped, and Crowley pulled back.

“No?”

“No, I don't want to praise you tonight!” Aziraphale roughly pulled the demon close again. “I just want you to fuck me.”

“You-” Crowley pulled back again, in utter shock this time. “You want me to _what_?”

“Fuck me.” Aziraphale repeated, ducking his head until his lips were against the demon's ear. “Fuck me like you never have before.” He breathed.

Crowley shivered and groaned, turning his head and crushing his lips against the angel's. Before Aziraphale could catch his breath, he was pushed up against Crowley's ridiculously opulent desk, the edge cutting into his thighs. Pushing Crowley back slightly, he hopped onto the desk top, wriggling backwards, pulling the demon in angel's flesh to him with their still linked hands. He lay back, writhing and arching as Crowley crawled onto the desk and nibbled his way up Aziraphale's thighs. Crowley's hot breath tickled over his swollen cock as he eased his body closer and higher, his tongue leaving a slippery trail along the lean, tanned torso. Stretched full length on top of him, Crowley eased his fingers into Aziraphale, slicked and lubed by some sort of miracle – the angel couldn't keep any of this straight in his mind anymore – and it was so different to how it usually felt, but it felt good, and it felt right, and it felt perfect, because it was him and it was Crowley. He reached between them, and took hold of Crowley's cock – _my cock_ , he thought giddily – and gripped it firmly.

“I want this.” His voice – _Crowley's_ voice – was rough, and demanding.

“Do you just?” Crowley mused, before dipping his head to suck at Aziraphale's neck. The feel of the soft blonde hair tickling at his chin sent a shock-wave through the angel. _Oh that feels amazing, I'll do that to him more often._

“Crowley...” Aziraphale moaned. “Don't tease, not tonight.”

“Not tonight...” Crowley repeated softly, stretching his body more to plant a kiss on Aziraphale's lips. He slowly removed his fingers, and rose to a kneeling position. He stared down at Aziraphale for a long time, locking eyes with him, considering him seriously. “It might not work, this thing tomorrow.”

“We can worry about that tomorrow.” Aziraphale answered, his voice impatient. “Crowley, please.”

“It's interesting.” Crowley trailed his fingers along the inside of Aziraphale's thighs.

“What?”

“Seeing me beg.” Crowley tilted his head to the side. “I'm not sure I like it.”

“Well, don't make me beg, then!”

A beaming smile spread across the angelic face Crowley wore. “Demanding! That's more like it!” In a flash, he had spread Aziraphale's legs, positioned himself between them, tilted the angel's hips and thrust inside. Aziraphale cried out at the suddenness of it, but a warmth quickly spread through him, engulfing his senses as Crowley thrust hard and fast. He could do nothing more than grasp at his own throbbing cock and let the sensation from each movement wash over him, so different, yet still familiar, still safe, still his demon. He heard the demon's breath growing ragged and he gazed up, struck by the sight of his own body in the throes of passion. Eyes glazed and heavy, cheeks and chest flushed, pale skin glistening with sweat, every feature a picture of bliss.

“Oh!” The image was too much, too decadent, too _raw_ , and Aziraphale moaned and twitched, tightening around Crowley, one hand still grasping at his cock as the other squeezed Crowley's hand. Crowley withdrew and held himself over the angel, kissing him deeply as he himself came.

“Oh angel.” Crowley sighed, lowering his body to rest his weight on Aziraphale. “Oh, fuck me.”

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale replied, before a giggle escaped him. “Yes, I rather think you did.”

The two laughed, then grew silent as they retreated into their own thoughts.

“We really do need to figure out some sort of plan,” Crowley said eventually. “About how we're going to go about this.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale was quiet for a long time. “Crowley, I just want you to know... if anything does go wrong tomorrow, not that I think it will, but it might... and in that case, well, in _any_ case, really-”

“Angel, spit it out.”

“I want you to know that I love you.”

“I love you too, Aziraphale.” The demon was subdued. “Completely.”

The demon and the angel, each in the other's flesh, looked at each other, left hands still tightly held together.

“We _can_ beat this, Crowley. We _will_ be victorious. It's not too late for us.”

“I hope not.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, if I ever attempt another body swap fic, it will be done with months of pre-writing preparation. I feel like this gets a little messy and disjointed, and honestly, I will probably try a complete re-write at some point... but I hope you enjoyed it, all the same!


End file.
